


Adventures of Pocket-Andy

by ValentineRevenge



Category: Black Veil Brides
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRevenge/pseuds/ValentineRevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little humor following the adventures of a shrunken Andy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
So we're sitting in Denny's at like 9 on Saturday morning. This is way too early for a shrimp to be awake and running around for a day off, but here I am! So we're sitting there, eating breakfast. My mom got some weird avocado wrap, I got mozzerella sticks (strange, right? But I'm a shrimp. Deal with it.) and my mother's husband got some combination of bacon and eggs and toast and oatmeal.   
  
Near the end, el toerag (my mothers husband -.-) started to pour the tiny shot glass of milk they gave him into the bowl of oatmeal, before bitching that there wasn't enough milk. So while the toerag flagged down a waitress to bring him more milk, my mother leans slightly across the table and tells me "Don't worry, that's his weird ritual with the oatmeal."  
  
I don't know what made me laugh more, the fact that the toerag has an oatmeal ritual, or the mental image that I was getting. Of course, this mental image was related to the fact that she has said "ritual". Apparently my smirk was showing through, because then she asks, "What's funny?"  
  
So I can't help but tell her "I can't help but feel Andy is going to pop out of nowhere and start singing that song 'Ritual'." She smiles to that thought too, while the toerag continues to eat his oatmeal. Maybe 15 minutes later, we're getting ready to leave. My mom puts her purse onto the table, no doubt to pay for breakfast, or at least to leave the waitress a tip, when to the surprise of all 3 seated at the table, said purse started to sing faintly.  
  
It couldn't be anyone's phone ringing, because my mother's current ringtone was some song by Eminem. No, the singing purse sounded suspiciously like Andy Biersack, but...smaller and squeakier.   
  
_You're barely sleeping, no longer dreaming_ the purse sang. My mother got over her initial "What the hell?" and picked up the fork in one hand, holding it in an attacking position should anything come jumping out. With her other hand, she unzipped the purse. out popped the fluffy head of Set The World On Fire era Andy, still belting out the lines. "Thank God, it was fuckin stuffy in there." the pocket-sized singer said in his somewhat squeaky voice.   
  
"What the _hell_ is that?" my mother asked. Andy turned around and screamed out loud. "AAAAAH! Holy shit!" Both my mother and the toerag let out yells of fear. "Mom, it's Andy... Just....smaller..." I said, trying not to laugh. Poor Andy, meanwhile, looked traumatized. "All I know is that someone started making cracks about 'ritual' so I had to show up to sing it, and now when I do, I almost get killed!" He yelled, not sounding as pissed as he should've, because he was a total of 3 inches tall and squeaky sounding due to being shrunk.   
  
"Yeah, that was like 15 minutes ago." I tell Andy. He gives me a rather pissed look, before saying "I've fucking been stuck in that purse for a while here!" I sighed, before using the tip of my finger to poke Andy's head back into the purse. "That thing isn't going back in my purse." My mother said. There came a muffled "Thank God." From inside the bag.   
  
The toerag reached over and plucked Andy out of the purse, before holding him, squirming and kicking, above the bowl of milk left over from the oatmeal. "What the fuck!" Andy yelled. "Gonna drown this thing." the toerag said, uncaring said thing was a sentinent being, unlike a roach.  
  
"No, no." I yell, reaching out and snatching away the tiny singer. "Don't worry, he'll live in a shoebox below my bed, and I'll make socks for him, and feed him coffee and brownies and tell him bedtime stories."   
  
"Fine, but if I find that thing running around the house, I'm stepping on it." my mother said.  
  
Andy cringed.


	2. Sock

So after that vaguely eventful morning, the tiny singer left the restaurant with us. I don't know where he came from, or why he was so small, but it looks like I had a pocket sized rocker to deal with.

Walking out of the restaurant, he was carried out in the palm of my hand, staring over the edge, all the way down to the sidewalk.

"Damn, that's far." He said, er, squeaked.

"Well you're not getting dropped."

There was an audible "Whew!" Of relief.

Getting in the car, I dropped Andy in the cup holder that stuck out from the center console into the backseat. Yes, that thing that makes sitting in the middle seat of a small SUV type thing more of a bitch than it already was.

Andy immediately curled up into the hard plastic, a small dark lump at the bottom. I sat back, listening to the (rather unpleasant and annoying) sound of the traffic outside.

After about 10 minutes, it became clear to me that we weren't going home. "Mom? Where are we going?" I piped up.

"We're going to the mall, like we planned." She replied.

"But what about this little squeaker?" I asked, gesturing at the cup holder. In response to that, one of Andy's scrawny arms came up, flipping me off, before disappearing back into the depths of the plastic. I sent a withering glare his way. I doubt he got it.

"We're taking him with us." My mother said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"But people are gonna stare!" I protested.

" Then leave him in this.... thing." My mother said, not knowing what to call the thing that we were riding in. After all, it was her brother who bought it, not her.

"But he's gonna fry!"

"Then make up your mind, take him or leave him."

I sighed. Looks like I'd be walking around for the better part of the day with a little tiny singer in my hand.

Then, my parents resumed talking, and I pulled out a set of needles from my bag, continuing to work on the sock attached to them.

Presently, I heard Andy complain, "It's fucking freezing in here!"

"Tell that thing if it doesn't watch it's language, I'll was it's mouth out!" My stepfather said, ignoring the physical impossibilities of that, considering how small it was.

"With a Q-tip?" My mother asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah, I know it's freezing in here, but you don't gotta be a sailor over it." I replied.

"well excuse me while I go get a case of hypothermia, sorry to warn you in advance about it." Andy spat back, but not getting the point across in the manner he intended, since he was still just so squeaky.

True, they always seemed to have the A/C cranked up as high as it would go, no matter what they were driving. SO to spare the creature a case of hypothermia and getting his mouth washed out with a Q-tip, and my parents the sound of a pint sized sailor, I plucked him up from the cup holder, dropping him into the sock in progress.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a sock I'm making."

"A sock?" Andy asked, his voice sounding dumbfounded.

"Yes."

"That's disgusting!"

"But it's clean! It's a new sock, not even finished!"

"But it's still a sock!"

"If you want to go out of the sock and finish getting your case of hypothermia, be my guest then." I said, laying the sock onto the seat, so he could walk out as he pleased. A minute passed, and still, nothing small and dark exited my sock.

"Coming out or what?" I asked.

" 'm staying."

I rolled my eyes.

But right about now, we were pulling into the parking lot of the mall.

"Make up your mind what you're going to do with that thing." My mother said, as we cruised around looking for a parking spot.

I wasn't going to leave him to fry in the 90 degree plus humidity weather, but neither was I going to go walking around holding him. The best compromise I could come up with was to toss him (still in the sock) into my purse, zipping it up.

"It's fucking stuffy in here!" He protested loudly enough to be heard by my parents in the front seat.

"So you're going to go walking around with a cursing bag full of socks." My mother said, turning around and looking at me like I had lost my marbles.

"One sock! And it's not done yet! And it's not the one cursing, and it's not my bag either, it's Andy!"


End file.
